For little Agnes, in a perfect agony of weeping, had thrown herself into her sister's arms.
"I—I don't believe it!" she said. "Irene! Dearest, dearest Irene! She couldn't do anything of that sort."
"She couldn't now, Aggie. Oh, Lucy, do go away! Leave her to me—leave her to me," said Miss Frost, in the greatest distress.
Having accomplished her mission—and, as she said to herself, brought gunpowder into the enemy's camp—Lucy retired, wondering that she did not feel more satisfied. Agnes and her sister had a very long talk, the end of which was that they returned home a short time after Irene and Rosamund had come back from The Follies.
Irene began at once to call for Agnes.
"Aggie! Where's my Aggie? Aggie, I have brought you something back—something ever so pretty!"
But there was no response, and Irene felt a queer sensation at her heart.
"Where is the child?" she said. "Where is my little Agnes?"
After a time Agnes was seen running towards her. She did not come quite as fast as usual, and there was a change in her face. Irene did not know when she saw that change why a sudden sense of fear stole over her. It was as though some one had snatched the heart out of a gem, the glory out of a flower. It was as though little Agnes was no longer the beautiful Agnes she loved. She could not analyze her own feelings. She herself had returned in the best of spirits. Rosamund had been so bright, so cheery, so brave; her mother had been so pleased at the reports which Irene's different masters and mistresses had given her. All seemed going prosperously and well, and on the way home Rosamund had spoken of Agnes, and said how glad she was that Irene should have the little one to look after, to love and to guide and to cherish. Altogether, Irene was in her most softened mood, and she had brought back to Sunnyside several old toys of her own which she had rooted out of a cupboard in the long-disused nursery. They would charm little Agnes; they had never had any fascination for her.
She thrust the parcel into the child's hands.